


Far to Go

by seadreams



Category: DCU
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 16:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seadreams/pseuds/seadreams
Summary: Jason doesn’t think much about what life would be like if he didn’t live in Gotham, if he wasn’t doing the kind of work he is now. He figures it’ll probably happen eventually—everyone retires, right?He isn’t expecting it to go like this. Bruce exiles him from the place he’s lived his entire life, and Jason doesn’t know how to deal. He doesn’t have a purpose or a plan.So what he does is: he gets on his bike, and he rides.Or: a look at some of the strangest, most challenging days of Jason’s life. But, maybe, things turn out okay in the end.





	Far to Go

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really know what this is, but at the time, it was cathartic for me to write. This might be cathartic or it might be unsafe for you to read, so please be wary. **Heed the tags.**
> 
> I know we’ve recently seen what Jason would actually do if he was exiled, but let’s say he isn’t as emotionally or mentally prepared for it—I’m saying this takes place post-Under the Red Hood but Jason never meets the Outlaws and therefore doesn’t really have any friends.
> 
> Also: we’ve all seen that throwing a brain-dead teenage boy into the Lazarus Pit is not without its consequences, so what would happen if the effects started to wear off? I imagine nothing good.
> 
> Fun fact but this was named “Jason depresso” for the longest time before I finally settled on a title

“Hey. Do you wanna grab dinner at Tracey’s after this?”

That’s how it starts. A simple invitation, a kind if somewhat uncharacteristic gesture.

It comes out of nowhere. So Jason is a little suspicious at first. He responds with a little shrug, not an outright rejection nor a proper answer, and doesn’t think about it while they track down whatever’s been spooking the crooks down near the sewers in the Narrows.

He hasn’t brought a spare change of clothes, and neither has Tim, so when they walk into Tracey’s, tired from chasing shadows and running into dead ends, soaking wet and smelling of something foul, they receive a diner full of completely justified glares and a less than warm welcome from Tracey herself. They end up eating outside, on the roof, and Jason tries not to think about how funny Tim actually is when he recounts a story about Bruce faking a drunken tumble at a gala. He tries even harder to ignore the warm feeling in his gut when Tim bids him goodbye and smiles, lips quirked to one side, the softest expression he’s seen on the boy’s face since they first met.

Later that night, as he lies on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, he is assaulted by memories of a brutal battle in the Titans’ memorial hall, of blood on the wall, and the tattered remains of a Robin costume enveloping a boy too young, too innocent to be there, being beaten half to death by his predecessor, the boy he’d looked up to for years before taking up the mantle. He doesn’t sleep.

***

The next time Tim extends an invitation, Jason doesn’t wait for him to finish. He throws a smoke bomb down at the ground near his feet then immediately fires off a grapple, and no matter how excessive it looks, no matter how much of an overreaction, he isn’t going to let the boy near him again.

***

It happens though, an urgent call going out to all of them, and they’re paired and sent off so quickly that Jason doesn’t even have time to register who he’s going off to fight with until he’s seated in the jet next to Tim.

The tension in his body must be somewhat palpable, because not ten minutes into the flight, Tim looks over at him and tells him to settle down.

_ ‘How can you be so relaxed sitting here next to me?’ _ he wants to say. The words prod and push at his chest, begging to be let out. _ ‘After what I did. Do you not remember?’ _

“Are you okay?” Tim asks, in the same tone he once said, _ ‘It wasn’t your fault, Jason,’ _—so casually, without any weight attached, as if making a comment about the weather.

Distantly he registers his fingers clawing into the leather of the seat, leaving deep recesses that will probably be troublesome to fix later, but all he sees now is red, burning hot behind his eyes. How can Tim say that when it’s one of the only things he can think about at night, one of the many horrors he’s committed that he knows, no matter how far removed from any sort of religion he is, has left a dark mark on his soul, an unerasable sin.

He hears a surprised intake of breath, a concerned voice asking, “Jason?”

“What?” he snaps, and when he turns, there’s Tim, half bent over the yoke to get a good look at his face. He realises then that the burning hot behind his eyes has spilled over into tears, the droplets reflecting the red from the console as they slide down his cheeks.

He wipes his face with his sleeve angrily, embarrassed, then turns away from Tim as he slides his helmet back on, pretending to sleep for the rest of the ride.

The mission goes smoothly enough, with a few bumps along the way, but that is to be expected. They work silently together, efficiently, and Jason is grateful that Tim seems to be one-hundred percent focused on the mission because it means he cannot say anything to set Jason off again.

However, when they’re back in the Cave, about to meet the others for a debriefing on the mission, Tim says, very quietly, “You’re repentant. Isn’t that enough?”

Jason skips the debriefing.

***

Tim gets the point; he stops trying to reach out to him. Jason goes out on his patrols by himself and isn’t waylaid by any other overly friendly vigilante anymore. When he comes home and realises he hasn’t spoken to anyone the entire day, he tells himself he prefers it that way.

He wonders why he’s still dreaming about him. He wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, sweating and chest heaving from panic. Sometimes, randomly, in the middle of the day, he’ll remember what it felt like to hold Tim’s life in his hands, to be one good hit from taking it away.

He wishes he could just forget. But, at the same time, he’s grateful for the reminder. He doesn’t deserve to just move on, not when he hasn’t paid for his actions. 

He has to stop there, because if he continues thinking about this, the ache in his chest will grow until it’s constructing his lungs and spilling out through his tears.

He isn’t one of those people who shut themselves up in their rooms, crying until they have no more tears left to spill, screaming until their voices go hoarse. He never was.

He wanted to, when he was young; many, many times, he wanted to, but his father would have beat him senseless if he even heard one sob from him. Then when the bastard went to jail, and it was just him and Mom left, well. He just never had the time. Then when Mom died and Jason was finally left alone in the world, he didn’t even have a room, let alone a house to cry in.

So it comes as no surprise that, when memories from after the Pit start inexplicably flooding back, instead of hiding away in his safe house, wallowing in his own grief and misfortune, he goes out. He brings his dagger, the kris blade, and does his utmost not to break the Batman’s one rule.

He isn’t one of those people who rely on others to comfort him, he never has been. In between getting arrested, overdosing, dying, and going out every night to fight criminals, no one has ever had the time.

***

There have, however, been a number of occasions where he’s come awfully close to breaking Batman’s rule.

There’s always been something or someone to hold him back though, but tonight? Tonight, Jason is very, very tempted, and very, _very_ unhampered.

There is a truck veering through the streets. He watches as it turns a corner too fast, knocking down several street signs as well as a stoplight. Luckily, it’s just after midnight and there aren’t many pedestrians on the street.

He hadn’t heard the entire briefing, but what he does know is enough: two men, armed to the brim with guns, and a dozen scared and crying children in the back. Human traffickers. Jason’s dealt with their kind before.

He’s been pursuing them doggedly, chasing after them on his bike. They’re fast, but Jason is relentless. A few well-placed shots and four blown out tires later, the truck slows to a crawl and stops.

He waits. There’s no movement, no sound, so Jason gets off his bike.

The rest of the pack have finally caught up; Jason sees Tim and Dick going for the back, prying the doors open and leading the kids out to safety, and Bruce going for the front, deflecting bullets and bodily pulling guns out of the men’s arms when he smashes his way through the windscreen.

But Jason ignores all of them as he pulls out his own gun. He waits for Bruce to get out of the way, to jump off the front of the truck, before he raises his arm. No one’s paying attention.

Criminals from out of town don’t expect it, they hear stories about the caped freaks who bestow justice but don’t use as much force as they could—so when Jason gets in front of the truck and aims his gun at the driver, he sees him mouth, _ Do it, _ like this is some sort of game, like Jason’s here to play around and he isn’t threatening to end his miserable life.

Well. Jason’s always loved proving people wrong.

“Red Hood! _ Do not, _ I repeat, _ do not shoot!” _

But his finger is already on the trigger. It would be too easy—it _ is _ too easy to pull it.

_ Bang. _

A scream sounds. He’s being tackled to the ground. He barely registers someone shouting in his ear.

_ “What did you do? What did you do, Jason?” _

All he hears are the soft sobs and noises from the kids, scared, but still alive. All that matters is their safety.

As he’s being dragged away from the scene, as the body in the driver’s seat slumps against the wheel and sets the horn off, blasting a long and piercing note through the chilly night, the scum in the passenger seat staring in shock, he doesn’t feel any regret like he knows he should, all he can think about is that he wishes he got both of them.

He’s brought back to the Cave, and he knows he should be in police custody right now, but Bruce apparently has other plans. He sets Jason down and begins pacing back and forth until the others arrive, and then they begin arguing with each other about what to do with him, their voices mingling into one until Jason can’t tell them apart.

He knows he isn’t meant to hear it, but he does. And later on, he’ll try burying the memory under the burn of whiskey and countless pints of beer before he stumbles home alone again, but in the moment, all he can do is listen and give in to the sudden ache in his chest that leaves him gasping for breath.

“He’ll never be one of us.”

***

Bruce tells him to leave on a Thursday.

There’s no big meeting in the Cave, no dramatic fight.

No, Bruce calls his phone and tells him that he isn’t welcome in Gotham anymore.

It’s nine in the morning and Jason’s just woken up.

It’s his worst nightmare, the thing he’s been trying so hard to avoid for years, but, in the moment, he doesn’t feel anything.

He just stands in his kitchen and listens to the cars outside, and when he’s sure no one’s going to come in and storm the place, he goes to pack his bags.

He doesn’t know why he was hoping someone would come. But, as he’s leaving his home, he feels the tug of something pulling him back, urging him to turn around and walk back inside. He ignores it. He ignores every niggling feeling, every desire that’s calling him and tethering him to Gotham, and doesn’t look back when the strings pull hard at his aching heart until they finally snap.

***

He doesn’t have a set destination in mind. He just gets on his bike and rides until there’s nothing in front of him but miles of empty highway and nothing behind him but the remnants of a life he was forced to leave.

Eventually, after dozens of gas stations and one-night stays at various motels, he stops in front of a motel in the middle of an empty desert and on a quiet road that has nothing but diners that look like they’re frozen in time on either side. He’s managed to reach a town somewhere in between Arizona and Las Vegas, he thinks. He doesn’t ask the receptionist.

There’s a pool in the back. Because it’s a cloudy day, there’s no one out using it. He spends a few hours sitting by the poolside, staring down at the clear blue water, drinking a few cans of beer, and letting his mind wander.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do now. He doesn’t know why he drove so far. He should’ve just done the smart thing—bunker down in a city not far from Gotham, like Dick did in Blüdhaven, a city that needs someone like him there.

But does anyone really need Jason? Is there a place in this world for someone like him?

Without the guns, without the armour, without the fucking Hood, who is he?

He’s scared when he can’t find the answer to that question.

He waits until nightfall, until his body’s shivering with cold and the moonlight’s reflecting off the ripples in the water, before he goes back into his room.

***

Days pass and nothing changes. Jason doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, but he doesn’t think it’ll come. The world’s moving past without him, he knows, but this small desert town seems to move at a snail’s pace, and Jason is grateful for it. All his life he’s been moving at breakneck speeds, flittering this way and that, he’s forgotten what it’s like to just breathe.

But without a goal in mind, he feels lost. All he seems to do is breathe now. And drink, and swim, and black out. He doesn’t know if any of those things are related to each other, but he finds himself waking up sometimes and not remembering when he fell asleep.

So he breathes. He learns to breathe slow, to breathe deep, because when he lets the panic take over, the thoughts of the outside world moving on and leaving him behind, his breaths turn shallow and quick, his chest tightening until it’s almost painful, and then he’s crying until his tears sting his cheeks and his lips are dry and cracking.

Maybe he’s going insane. There’s no other reason for this, for the way he just can’t seem to get up, to get out, to want to do anything anymore. Yes, maybe the lack of human interaction is finally getting to him.

That’s the explanation he settles on and clings to.

He continues on this way, letting his phone battery die and forgetting to keep track of the days.

***

There are kids outside screaming and splashing around in the pool. Jason listens to them and tries to remember a time he felt as carefree.

Was he ever allowed to just be a child? No. Childhoods were for kids who didn’t have to hold their mother’s hair as she vomited and feed and bathe her when she was too high to even recognise herself. Childhoods were for kids who weren’t child soldiers.

Eventually, the kids outside quieten down and leave.

He thinks about going out to the poolside in the middle of the night and just slipping in and disappearing under the water. The only thing stopping him is the thought of traumatising those kids in the morning.

Numb. All he feels is numb. There are no empty bottles of spirits laying nearby to indicate any alcoholic undoing, no, somehow he’s gained enough experience in not feeling to be able to do it unassisted now. He lies on his stomach on his bed, face pressed deeply into the pillow, blissfully unaware of everything except the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beating of his heart.

He’d pressed the palms of his hands too hard into his eyes before, to force the tears away, and they throb with a low kind of pain now, but he barely registers that either.

He could lie here forever, he thinks, and it wouldn’t matter.

He _ would _ continue lying there, but there’s a noise from somewhere nearby. Thumping erratically, pausing, then starting over, again and again, over and over, until Jason has no choice but to get up and investigate.

There’s someone knocking.

He doesn’t bother looking through the peephole, he just opens the door, barely registering anything but surprise when he sees who’s standing outside.

“You’re a hard guy to find,” Tim says, grinning like he’s just bumped into an old friend and not followed Jason thousands of miles out into the desert.

Jason just stares at him.

Tim scoots past, into the room, and Jason sees it when he notices the collection of empty bottles and cans in the corner. He freezes for a moment, but he doesn’t say a word, just turns back to Jason and smiles again. Gently, this time, encouragingly.

Jason feels a small spike of anger. He doesn’t need this person’s pity, doesn’t need anyone to follow him out here and check up on him, all in the guise of friendship, when really he’s just here to check if Jason’s keeping in line so he can return and report everything back to Bruce back in Gotham.

“Get out,” he says, but because he hasn’t spoken in days, weeks maybe, it comes out hoarse and weak.

Tim opens his mouth as if to say something, but shuts it again, nods once, and walks out of the room.

Jason shuts the door and locks it. Then collapses against it and slides down onto the floor.

He presses his hands into his eyes and breathes slow.

***

When he wakes up, he’s in bed with no memory of having gotten off the floor. He tries to sit up, but he feels lightheaded and dizzy, and he ends up laying down again to try and stop the spinning.

Eventually, he registers the sound of the tap running, and water draining down the sink. He gets up despite his lightheadedness and finds Tim in the bathroom, pouring out his remaining bottles of vodka and beer.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He isn’t angry.

“Getting rid of these,” Tim answers simply, “they’re not good for you.”

Jason knows that. He doesn’t mention that he hasn’t had a drink in two days.

Something comes over him then, a burning in his chest, a tightness in his throat, and he keels over and retches into the toilet. There’s nothing there, but he feels Tim at his side, stroking a hand gently down his back.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says.

Tim doesn’t stop petting him. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises.

***

When he wakes, Tim is staring down at him with something indescribable on his face.

He smells food—he looks over and sees a mound of paper bags on the counter, and when he looks questioningly at Tim, he shrugs.

“I’m not sure what kind of food you like, so I got a little of everything.”

There are chili dogs in one of the bags. He takes one out and hands the other to Tim, biting into his and savouring the taste he hasn’t experienced in so long.

“These are my favourite,” he tells Tim. He tells him about the baseball games Bruce used to bring him to as a child, about chili dogs becoming a staple every time they went, about the time Bruce bit into one and the mustard squirted out and got all over his white shirt and he looked so shocked that Jason couldn’t stop laughing.

Tim listens to all of this with a smile on his face, and when Jason’s finished talking, he says, “You should come back.”

Jason stills. “And what? Go back to him and beg him to take me back? He doesn’t want me there. No one does.”

Tim shakes his head. “I want you there.”

Jason laughs mirthlessly. “Right.”

“Why do you think I came all the way out here?”

Jason stares down at his chili dog. “Because Bruce told you to.”

“But he didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

Tim looks at him and Jason sees his fists clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “Believe what you want,” he says. “I know why I’m here, and I know that I’m not leaving until you come with me.”

“Be prepared to be stuck here forever then,” Jason mutters.

Tim looks as if he’s going to argue, but Jason suddenly feels the need to be sick again. He stumbles to his feet and makes a dash for the toilet, barely making it in time before he pukes what little he ate of his chili dog into the bowl.

Once he’s done, he sits with his back against the wall, breathing deeply and staring up at the light.

Tim enters with a bottle of water which he holds up to Jason’s mouth and makes him drink, sitting beside Jason on the cold tile floor once he’s done.

He hears a small sound, a soft sound, and when he looks up, Tim is turned away, wiping the back of his arm across his face. “What are you doing to yourself, Jason?” he asks, sniffling.

“I don’t know,” Jason whispers back, numbly watching Tim cry.

They sit there for hours, Tim crying and Jason staring at him, not knowing what to say.

Eventually, Tim goes out to turn on the TV. Jason hears it, and he leaves the bathroom to find Tim on his stomach on the bed, head resting on top of his hands, picking at fries from one of the bags. They must be cold by now.

Jason, hesitantly, sits next to him, leaning against the headboard.

“What are you watching?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Tim answers. “I’m not really watching. Just don’t wanna think about—” He stops and waves a hand around.

“About me,” Jason finishes for him. Tim doesn’t deny it. “Kinda hard to do when you’re in the same room as me,” Jason says. He feels a stab of hurt at Tim’s words for some incredibly stupid reason, like Tim _ should _ be thinking of him at all, so when he speaks, he can hear the slight colour of offence in his tone rather than a plain detachment.

“I can’t leave you alone.” He buries his face slightly in his arms, then looks up again, unveiling his trembling jaw. “I’m so scared for you. I don’t understand why…”

“Why what?” Jason questions.

Tim shakes his head. “Never mind. This is hard.”

Jason stares at him and thinks he understands what he’s so torn up about. “You don’t have to be here,” he tells him quietly. “You can go home.”

Tim turns and looks at him like he’s crazy. “No, I can’t,” he says. “Not until you—” He swallows, closing his eyes. “Please, just—let me stay?”

Jason stares at those pained blue eyes when they open again, and makes a decision in his head. “Okay.”

***

He figures he’ll leave and make this easier for Tim.

He doesn’t want him to be stuck out here like he is, even if it is out of the goodness of his heart. He has a life back in Gotham that he should get back to, he shouldn’t be wasting it on someone who’s throwing his away.

He plans to leave his belongings behind, as well as his bike, guessing that there’s some sort of tracker somewhere on them that he can’t be bothered finding and disabling.

He goes out to the shops to buy a set of new clothes and a backpack, and when Tim smiles at him, like he’s proud Jason’s doing something other than sleep in his motel bed, Jason bites back the part of himself that wants to tell him goodbye.

He waits until Tim’s retreated to his own room, a few doors down from Jason’s, where he’s apparently been staying at ever since he arrived.

He waits until the dead of night, then he leaves, as silently as he can, creeping down the hallway to the stairs.

He feels tears pricking at his eyes again when he realises that this is it. Tim is the last thread he has connecting him to Gotham, and when he cuts him off, he’ll be completely alone. He presses his hands to his eyes, every breath he takes shaking and fragile, and when he removes them, he sees Tim halfway out of his door, frozen and staring at Jason with something like shock on his face.

“Jason?” he asks softly, “What are you doing?”

Jason recovers quickly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he lies, shifting subtly in an attempt to hide his backpack in the dark. “Went for a walk. M’coming back inside now, though, don’t worry.”

Tim continues staring at him, unmoving, and Jason’s heart falls when he realises that he’s been caught out.

“You were leaving,” Tim accuses him. “You _ are _ leaving.”

He sounds so _ hurt. _ Jason can’t look at him anymore. “It’s for the best, Tim,” he says to the floor.

_ “No,” _ Tim says forcefully. “No, no, no—”

He rushes forwards and wraps himself around him, capturing Jason in his arms and holding on tight, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, Jason might bolt.

“Don’t you _dare,”_ Tim hisses, “don’t you dare leave me.”

Jason feels himself shaking, and he presses his face into the top of Tim’s head to try and muffle his sobs.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers. “I don’t know what to do.”

He feels Tim pulling him, dragging him back to his room, and he doesn’t have the strength nor the will in him to fight, so he follows.

Tim takes his backpack off, his jacket, makes him sit on the bed so he can take off his shoes too, and then he makes Jason lie down, tucking him under the covers.

After a moment, he feels Tim climbing into bed beside him, his head being guided gently onto Tim’s chest, and fingers stroking his hair.

“Talk to me, Jason. I can’t help you if don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know.”

“Where were you going to go? What were you going to do?”

When Jason fails to give him a response, Tim garners the answer from his silence. Jason hears his voice break.

“Don’t—don’t fucking run away again,” he pleads. His voice grows thick, and Jason squeezes his eyes shut because he doesn’t want to see him crying again. “I kn—know you think you’re doing the world a favour or some s—stupid bullshit like that, but you’re not. You matter. You matter so much.”

“I don’t,” Jason whispers. “I _kill_ people.”

“But think about the lives you’ve saved, the people you’ve helped. About those children on the truck—Jason, you do so much good and you don’t even see it.”

“There are dozens of people that save lives every day. People who deserve—” his breath hitches, “—more than me.”

“That doesn’t mean—” Tim stops, then continues, “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live.”

Something in Jason’s chest tightens. That’s exactly what he’s been fearing this whole time. Does his existence mean anything when he hasn’t brought anything to the world? He’s barely alive now—would it matter if he just stopped existing?

“Jason?” Tim shifts a little so he can see Jason’s face.

Jason meets his eyes reluctantly. Tim’s are red and wet with tears, but he’s staring down at Jason steadily, something hard and determined in his gaze.

“You deserve to live,” Tim tells him. “I don’t know a lot about a lot of things, but I know that’s for sure—you deserve to _ live.” _

Jason shakes even harder, and Tim tightens his grip.

“So don’t fucking give up on yourself, because I’m not giving up on you.”

He stays in Tim’s room for the rest of the night, Tim holding onto him even as Jason feels his grip slacken as he eventually falls asleep. Jason listens to the sound of his light snores and matches his breaths to his, and it’s the first time in a long time that he falls asleep peacefully.

***

In the morning, Jason feels okay enough to go out with Tim to one of the diners nearby for breakfast.

He doesn’t order much—just some toast and orange juice—but he manages to eat it all and keep it down as well.

Tim smiles at him, all wide and toothy, but he does it while his mouth is full and bits of chewed up egg fall out onto his plate.

Jason scrunches his nose in disgust at him but he laughs, and Tim laughs as well, and then the other patrons are looking at them as they snort and snicker at each other through the rest of their breakfast.

They swim together in the pool that afternoon. Jason does a few laps back and forth, but Tim floats on his back and watches the clouds, sunglasses on, long hair floating like tendrils on the surface of the water.

“It’s kind of beautiful here,” Tim says, when Jason takes a break from swimming laps and joins him. He’s been out in the sun the whole day, but he hasn’t managed to tan at all. There’s a flush high on his cheeks and on his chest that Jason has a suspicion might be sunburn, but he’s smiling, so he isn’t too concerned.

“Yeah,” Jason says, watching Tim stare up at the sky, “it is.”

Tim complains loudly a few days later when his skin starts peeling, and Jason admonishes him about not reapplying his sunscreen, but helps him apply hydrocortisone cream to the burns.

Tim hisses and flinches, and Jason’s trying to be as gentle as possible, so when he puts a hand on Tim’s thigh in a bid to get him to settle, he isn’t expecting Tim to tense up and stare at him.

Jason removes his hand immediately, muttering an apology, but Tim shakes his head and says, “It’s okay.”

He continues smearing cream over Tim’s skin in silence after that, but he feels like something in the air between them has changed, like something’s shifted to make way for something new.

They sleep in their own rooms that night.

***

“Do you wanna go to California?” Tim asks.

Jason looks up from his book. “California?”

Tim shrugs, trying to look casual. “I just think, we’re already this far, might as well go all the way to the west coast, right?”

Jason bites his lip. “How long will it take to get there?”

“Seven hours,” Tim answers. He smiles crookedly and adds, “but we could cut it down to five.”

Jason puts his book down. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

***

They leave on a Thursday afternoon, getting onto their bikes and kicking up a cloud of dust as they begin the ride to California.

They don’t speak for most of the journey, Jason knows that they’re both savouring it—they haven’t ridden anywhere in a long while, and the rumble of their motors fills Jason’s ears with a comforting familiarity.

They manage to evade several cops along the way, and Jason is pleasantly surprised to realise that the five hours doesn’t feel like five hours at all.

The golden hour comes, and Jason, riding several feet behind Tim, sees it when the sun slowly lowers down past the horizon, the sky turning a vibrant shade of orange, Tim silhouetted against it all.

If he had a camera, he would capture the moment.

They arrive in Los Angeles sometime at night, and Jason assumes that they’re going to find a motel, but Tim leads him a little further away from the city, towards the suburbs.

They slow to a stop in a residential area, and Jason is utterly confused when Tim pulls into a driveway and dismounts.

“Tim?” he asks, after he’s dismounted too and taken off his helmet.

Tim looks sheepish where he is, standing by the front porch of the condo.

“Surprise,” he says quietly, dangling keys from his hand.

Jason blinks. “You bought this?”

“Not exactly, I have a friend who owed me a favour. They’re letting me use one of their condos for as long as I want.”

Jason stares up at it. It’s two storeys tall, lush trees growing on either side, and when Tim unlocks the door and lets them inside, the interior looks massive.

Jason’s boots click against the hardwood floors and echo throughout.

Tim leads him upstairs where there are two spacious bedrooms and connecting bathrooms. Standing in the hallway, he grins and says, “Pick one.”

Jason looks between the two and can’t decide. They’re both almost exactly the same, he only has to decide whether he’d rather watch the sun set or rise.

Tim snorts. “What does it matter, we’ll end up sharing half the time anyway.”

He’s right. They sleep in the bedroom with windows facing the east and watch the sunrise together.

***

Jason takes up running in the mornings. He can’t convince Tim to come with him, no matter how hard he tries, so he goes alone.

He gets a feel for the neighbourhood, learns faces, pets a dog or two, and soon, he gets the same people waving hello to him as he passes by, learns which routes are best, discovers shortcuts back home.

Tim prefers going to the gym in the evenings, so while he’s doing that, Jason cooks dinner for two, having the food ready on the table by the time Tim comes back.

They’ve just settled into something of a routine when Tim gets a call on his phone and his face falls. He excuses himself and goes into the next room, and Jason does his hardest not to listen in, increasing the volume on the TV.

He comes back, brows drawn heavy over his eyes, and sinks down heavily into the couch beside Jason.

“You okay?” Jason asks, though he’s dreading what Tim might say.

“Yeah,” Tim answers automatically. Then he cringes. “No. That was Bruce.”

“Oh,” Jason says. “What did he want?”

“He’s wondering where I am.”

“What did you say?”

“I said it’s none of his business.” Tim looks thoughtful for a second. “I should probably get rid of this phone.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jason says noncommittally. He feels his face doing something he wishes it wouldn’t.

“Jay?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he insists, waving Tim off, but Tim stubbornly inserts himself into Jason’s space, angling his head so he can have a good look at Jason’s expression.

“You have to talk to me,” Tim says, holding onto Jason’s wrists so he can’t cover his face with his hands. “I won’t let you shut yourself off from me again.”

Jason shuts his eyes. “Why… why isn’t he looking for me? I know he kicked me out of Gotham, but he didn’t—he didn’t even try looking for me.”

“Oh, Jason.”

He feels Tim wrap his arms around him, feels Tim press a kiss into his hair.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Tim admits. “I don’t know, but he doesn’t deserve you. And you deserve someone better than some aloof bastard who doesn’t know the first thing about being a father,” he says fiercely, holding onto Jason tight.

They sleep on the couch that night, Jason somehow cradled in Tim’s smaller body, and Jason listens to the sound of Tim’s heartbeat and doesn’t think of fathers and broken promises at all.

***

Tim begins talking about exploring L.A. and all it has to offer. They eat out at Chinatown several times a week and walk along the Santa Monica Pier. They both agree on skipping the Walk of Fame—_ “Fuckin’ soul-sucking tourist trap” _—and making the trip to Disneyland—for now, just until they gather the mental fortitude to deal with screaming kids and weary parents.

They go to a bunch of museums—decidedly _ not _ on Hollywood Boulevard—and on one of these trips, Jason almost loses Tim in a crowd of school kids on a field trip. He laughs and laughs even as Tim glares at him and tells him to shut up.

One night, they visit a club. Jason was never really into the club scene back in Gotham, but now he figures, why not? They knock back a few shots at the bar, then Tim pressures Jason into getting onto the dance floor.

“Come on,” he shouts in Jason’s ear, “just this once, I wanna see your moves.”

Jason makes a face but lets himself be pulled along to the middle. Tim begins dancing, and Jason can’t look away when he realises just how well Tim can move his body. His hips move in rhythm with the beat, and when the song changes to something slower, Tim’s moves turn more sensual, hand in his hair, mouth open, eyes glazed over.

A girl comes over and starts dancing with him, and she’s blonde and pretty, and she has her back to Tim’s front, and Tim automatically puts his hands on her waist.

Jason pushes down on the twisting feeling his stomach and leaves for the bar. He orders another shot and when he feels someone come up to his side, pushing up close and brushing their chest along his arm, it can’t be anything less than purposeful.

He turns to look and is met with the smirking face of another man, around the same height as him, but maybe a little taller. He’s handsome in the dim light, and he’s looking at Jason like he wants to eat him.

“You dance?” he asks.

Jason downs his shot and smiles. “Sure.”

They head to the middle of the crowd, and immediately, the guy puts his hands around Jason’s waist. They sway along to the music, and when he spins Jason around, he pulls him back flush against his chest.

They stay like that for the next song, and Jason shakes his hips and rolls his body back against the guy’s front.

“You feel good,” he says into Jason’s ear, pressing his hips forward, and Jason feels the hint of something hard pressing against his ass.

Jason can’t help the giddy feeling threatening to escape his lips in a giggle. He likes the feeling of being wanted.

He goes to turn around, to maybe let the guy kiss him, when he sees a pair of piercing blue eyes staring at him through the crowd. Jason stumbles a little, and the guy grabs him and rights him, huffing a laugh into Jason’s neck.

Jason looks back briefly at Tim and sees he’s still with the same girl from earlier. But though his arms are still wrapped around her, he’s only looking at Jason, his eyes dark and unwavering.

Jason feels heat in his core.

He turns away and tries to forget about him, to focus on the guy giving him all his attention, putting his hands all over Jason’s ass.

“Wanna get out of here?” is the next question the guy asks.

Jason nods without really thinking it through.

He’s being lead through the crowd towards the door when he suddenly feels someone grab his other hand, stopping them completely.

Jason turns and blinks when he sees that it’s Tim who has taken hold of his wrist, the girl nowhere in sight. Jason’s dance partner has noticed the newcomer in his midst, and he steps in front of Jason and glares down at Tim.

“Piss off,” Jason hears, “I got this one—”

Jason shoves him aside before he can really start. He grabs up Tim’s hand in his own and shouts, “Fuck you,” to the guy who’s staring at him wide eyed now.

Jason and Tim take a cab home.

They don’t really talk until they’re inside, and even then, it’s only because Jason asks Tim to wait as he’s climbing up the stairs.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened in there?” he asks.

Now that Jason can actually see him, he realises that Tim looks vaguely embarrassed.

“I wasn’t meant to ruin your hook up,” Tim says.

Jason shrugs. “You saved me from going home with a douchebag.”

“But still,” he insists, and there’s a line between his brows, “he could’ve made you feel good.”

Jason shakes his head. “He isn’t who I wanted to go home with tonight.”

Tim seems to stop breathing at Jason’s admission. A beat passes, then he leaps down the stairs and pulls Jason into his arms, and this time their lips meet in a kiss.

***

Nothing truly changes from then on, they still go out to explore during the day, they still cuddle on the couch, they still sleep in one room at night. But sometimes when Jason is at the stove, Tim will come up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist and press a kiss behind his ear, or sometimes they’ll go out dancing—a past time Jason has come to love—but they’ll always dance together, and they’ll make out slow and dirty in the dark corners or in the back seat of the cab.

Sometimes they fight and it’s worst because they both tend to dig down and hit each other where it hurts the most.

Tim pulls out his phone—the one with Bruce’s number still on it—and Jason makes a quiet comment about Tim saying he would get rid of it.

He feels Tim tense up beside him. “Why would I get rid of it?”

Jason doesn’t look at him. “You said you would.”

Tim goes back to tapping at the screen. “Well, I’m not.”

Tim has been stressed lately because there’s been talk of trouble back in Gotham, with Bane recruiting old henchmen and amassing some kind of army. Bruce has been incessantly calling, as well as Dick, and Jason thinks he once saw Damian’s name on the screen, but Tim’s been shooting them all down to stay with Jason. He’s been helping in his own way, gaining them access to buildings and identifying possible targets, but Jason knows he’s itching to put on his mask.

He hasn’t said much on the matter, because part of him can relate, can empathise with Tim’s plight, but the other part doesn’t want him to go.

But Jason isn’t thinking about any of this when he says, “Why don’t you just run back to that shitty place since you miss it so much.”

“That ‘shitty place’ is filled with millions of innocent people, you asshole,” Tim snaps. “And I can’t since I’m looking after _ you.” _

Jason pushes off the couch and walks towards the kitchen to get some space between them. “You don’t _ need _ to look after me, I never fucking asked you to.”

“Right,” Tim scoffs. “So what were you doing to yourself before I came along?”

“I was doing fine, I was going to be fine, I don’t need you to fucking fix me,” Jason spits.

“Right,” Tim says again, and Jason feels the urge to punch something.

He runs a hand down his face instead. “Those fuckers don’t care. They never cared. And you’re still giving them the time of day?”

“At least they’re _ doing _ something instead of sitting on their ass at home.” Tim flinches as he’s saying it, like he’s immediately regretting the words.

Jason doesn’t say anything to deny it, because it’s true, even though he may not want to hear it. “Why don’t you just fucking go then. Since you _ love _ fixing things so much, maybe you’ll do a better job there than you are here.”

He leaves after that, taking the stairs up to the other bedroom, but before he can shut the door, Tim’s arm shoots out through the gap, followed by the rest of him, bodily shoving himself into the room.

Jason ignores him, climbing into bed and squeezing his hands over his eyes.

“Jason?” He feels Tim’s weight sinking onto the bed beside him. “I’m sorry.”

Jason shakes his head but he doesn’t remove his hands. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Jay, please look at me.”

“It’s so fucking stupid,” Jason says instead.

“What is?”

“All of this. What the fuck are we doing, Tim?”

He doesn’t hear Tim say anything after that. He doesn’t feel him move either, so he removes his hands and blinks away the patterns from the pressure in his eyes.

Tim is curled up on himself, knees pulled up high, face buried in his arms.

“Hey,” Jason says softly.

Tim shudders.

_ “Hey,” _ Jason says again in alarm, scooting over so he can wrap himself around him. “What’s wrong?”

Tim looks up slightly, so Jason can only see his eyes, but they look sad and pained. “You don’t want to do this anymore?”

“Do what?” Jason asks, confused.

“Live here… with me.”

“Of course I do, I—” Jason understands then how he misunderstood. “I didn’t mean us. I love being here with you. I love you.”

Tim’s face scrunches up at that, and Jason sees a few tears escape down his cheeks before he squeezes him tighter. “I do,” he says. “I really do.”

“Then what did you—?”

Jason presses his face into Tim’s shoulder. “It just feels like… we’re—_ I’m _ not doing anything here. You’re doing all this shit for them back in Gotham, and I’m… They don’t want my help.”

Tim looks up at that, wiping his face with his hands. “You don’t need to help, Jason. That’s not your life anymore, no one’s expecting you to pick the guns back up and go.”

“But I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to know. We can just take it one day at a time.”

Jason exhales shakily. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Jason nods.

They rearrange themselves, Jason sitting back against the headboard, Tim lying between his legs, head on Jason’s stomach. Things still feel raw between them, but Jason listens to the sound of Tim’s steady breathing and feels calmer than he did before.

“I’m sorry for everything I said before,” he says. “But, I also don’t want you to fix me.”

Tim looks up at him, brows furrowed. “Jason. You don’t need to be fixed. I’m sorry—”

“No,” Jason says. “I do. I just… it shouldn’t be on you to do it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m—” He bites his lip. “I wanna see someone. A therapist.”

He feels Tim squeeze his hand. “Okay. Let’s find one.”

***

He starts seeing a therapist in downtown L.A., one Tim has assured him was recommended by a few members of the Justice League. Though Jason was kind of terrified about talking to a stranger about the thoughts in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, it’s surprisingly easy to keep talking once he starts.

He lets it all out, and Claire listens, and soon the session is almost over. He looks worriedly up at her, but she says, “We can continue next week?” and Jason finds himself nodding, looking forward to his next appointment.

Claire is kind and nonjudgmental, but she also challenges Jason to do better than he is now.

She tells him to be proud of himself for doing this, for being able to do this. He is. And it’s a step in the right direction.

One step, but he’s taking it, and Jason knows that someday he’ll be able to run.

***

Jason blacks out again.

He doesn’t know what triggers it, but the last thing he remembers, he’s out on his morning run, when suddenly he’s waking up on the couch, Tim staring down at him in concern.

“Jay?” he says, and the relief that fills his voice and shows on his face is so overwhelming, Jason is worried that he did more than black out.

“You were missing for hours,” Tim tells him, fisting his hands in Jason’s shirt.

Jason opens his mouth to ask, but Tim looks as if he’s going to burst out in tears so he lets him continue, “One of our neighbours found you. He saw you slumped over in one of the alleys behind the houses. He ran over to me and let me know.”

Jason doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know why this is happening.

Tim isn’t done. “He didn’t think to check if you were still alive. I kept asking him the whole time on the way to you, and he kept saying, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’”

He feels numb again.

Tim cries, turning his face away. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Jason doesn’t know if he can promise that he won’t. All he can do is pull him close, take Tim into his arms, and kiss his head.

The next time it happens, Jason hits his head hard on the edge of a table as he goes down. He has a concussion and can’t do anything for a week.

The doctors, the neurologists, and the cardiologists all say the same thing: they can’t find anything wrong with him.

Tim is staring blankly at the wall at the eighth doctor’s office, but Jason sees it when he makes the decision to take matters into his own hands, his eyes going hard and determined.

Tim begins researching.

He spends hours and hours sitting in front of his laptop, researching different conditions—magical, demonic, alien—and he contacts different Justice League and Titans members for their advice and opinions.

Tim doesn’t mention whether or not Bruce is one of these people.

Jason is beginning to worry for him.

“Maybe it’s just a thing I’m gonna have to deal with for the rest of my life,” Jason tells him after pulling him away from his laptop at two am the sixth night in a row. “A lot of people have weird, unexplainable medical conditions. They learn to deal, I will too.”

Tim’s face twitches. “Maybe we should get one of those dogs trained to help with seizures.”

Jason blinks. He’d like a dog but, “A dog is a lot of responsibility.”

“You’re responsible,” Tim says.

“Tim, sometimes I can’t even take care of myself.” He huffs a self-deprecating laugh.

“Are you forgetting I live here too? I can help look after a dog.”

“We’re not getting a dog,” Jason states with finality. “I’d probably crush it if it tried to cushion me anyway.”

Tim’s lips quirk. “We’ll get a Great Dane then. Or one of those dogs that look like bears.”

Jason rolls his eyes but he knows this isn’t a real argument, Tim isn’t being serious. “Then it’d eat you.”

“It wouldn’t. I’d taste bad.”

Jason makes a thoughtful noise, then bites down on Tim’s neck. Tim squeaks. Jason licks his lips dramatically. “I dunno,” he says, “you taste pretty good to me.”

Tim peers up at him. “Are you gonna eat me then?”

Jason purses his lips. “Nah. Not enough meat.” He pinches at Tim’s side, and Tim squeals again and slaps him away.

They end up half-wrestling, half-pinch attacking each other on their bed, and by the end, they’re all puffed out and ready for sleep.

Tim ends up splayed across most of the bed, and Jason lets him have it because he doesn’t really need that much space, but then Tim ends up crawling closer and slotting himself right up against Jason’s side. He pulls the blankets over them both, and Jason hums contentedly at the warmth, turning so that he can wrap an arm around Tim and pull him even closer.

“Jason?” Tim’s asks softly, and Jason opens one eye to look at him.

“Mmm?”

“I forgot to tell you, but I figured you already know anyway.”

“What’s that?”

Tim smiles, almost shyly, his cheeks turning pink. “I love you, too.”

***

There’s a clown in the corner of the room.

Jason can see it out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t move, can’t scream—he can only breathe.

Its face is unmoving, but it smiles at him in the dark, and its pale skin seems to glow in the moonlight.

He wishes he could move an arm, a finger, anything, so he can wake Tim up, but he hears Tim sleeping peacefully beside him, his breaths slow and measured, unaware of what Jason is seeing.

Jason stares at it, and the clown stares back. It hasn’t moved, but he’s scared to find out what might happen if he looks away.

He lies there for what feels like hours, the terror he feels in his chest growing so much stronger over time instead of subsiding, he fears he might have a heart attack.

Eventually, he can move again, and when he does, pushing himself up with his arms, the clown disappears, along with the terror that Jason was sure would kill him.

He gets his breathing back under control, then looks at Tim, still fast asleep. He reaches out to wake him, then thinks better of it, wrapping himself around Tim’s body again instead and going back to sleep.

***

“I’m thinking of going back to Gotham,” Tim says one morning at breakfast.

Jason nods. “Okay.”

“Not for too long,” Tim amends quickly, “just… until the whole Bane mess is dealt with.”

Jason nods again. “Okay. You should go.”

“Really? You’re okay with me leaving?”

Jason was waiting to feel some sort of anxiety about it, but he doesn’t, so. “Yeah, I’m okay with it. Go. Do your thing. Kick some ass.”

Tim smiles around a spoonful of cereal. “Okay, I could leave on Saturday—”

“Why not tomorrow?” Jason asks.

Tim hesitates. “I—tomorrow’s too soon,” he says, and Jason has a clear view when his cheeks slowly turn red.

“You gonna miss me?” Jason jokes, smirking.

“So much,” Tim admits openly. “I’ll call you as often as I can.”

“Just stay safe,” Jason tells him firmly. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Of course,” Tim says. “You too.”

Jason snorts. “Look at us. Acting like you’re leaving tonight.”

Tim shrugs. “Yeah, well, this’ll be the first time we’ll be apart.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jason assures him. He waits until Tim’s finished his bowl of cereal to say, “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” He tugs at Tim’s sleeve.

“To do what?” Tim quirks a brow but follows obediently.

“You’re gonna be gone for a bit. I wanna get my cuddles in now before all the lonely nights.”

Tim rolls his eyes but he mashes his face into Jason’s chest when they fall back onto the bed.

***

Before Tim leaves, he puts foam pieces on any bits of furniture he thinks might come to harm Jason, and makes him add a list of contacts to his phone.

“This one’s Mark, our next-door neighbour. I told him that if he doesn’t hear from you every day, to check up on you, so make sure to send him a text before you go to bed.” He pulls up another number. “This one’s Celia.”

Jason feels incredibly babied right now, but he knows Tim is only worried, so if it lets him feel better, he’ll allow it.

At the airport, Jason hugs him for longer than necessary, squeezing him tight and rubbing his back.

“Remember to check your corners, and always look before you leap,” he says into Tim’s hair, giving as good as he gets. “Know your strengths, you could probably duck under Bane’s legs and he wouldn’t notice you.”

Tim punches his arm. “Shut up. Look after yourself, okay?”

_ “Yes, _ Timmy,” Jason promises for the umpteenth time. “Be safe.”

They wave goodbye at the gate and Jason rides Tim’s bike back home.

***

He gets a call later that day. It’s a number Jason doesn’t recognise, so he makes the assumption that it’s one of their neighbours that Tim might’ve missed.

When he answers, however, a familiar voice chimes a greeting.

“Hey, little wing.”

Jason very nearly hangs up right then.

“Dick,” he says instead, once he’s composed himself. “How are you?”

Dick huffs a surprised chuckle like he was expecting Jason to hang up on him too. “I’m doing alright. Super tired though.” He yawns. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

Dick hums. “That’s good.”

When Dick doesn’t say anything more after that, Jason says, “Why did you call?”

“It’s been a while. A long time, in fact. I wanted to check up on you now that I finally have the means to.”

“How did you get this number?”

“Tim gave it to me. I’d been bugging him about it for a while, he finally gave in. I suppose he didn’t want you to be lonely.”

“Well. You checked up on me. Guess that means you can go now, right?”

“Wait, Jason,” Dick says quickly before Jason can hang up. He sounds hesitant, cautious, like he’s afraid he might say something wrong. “How’s—how’s Cali?”

Jason purses his lips. He doesn’t understand the point of this call. “It’s good. It’s great. Different to Gotham.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can imagine. You’re,” he inhales heavily down the line, “you’re… happy there?”

Jason props an arm up against the fridge. “Yeah, I’m happy.”

“Good.” He hears Dick shifting around. “Look, I gotta go, but I’ll call again tomorrow, yeah? Or we can text. Whatever you want.”

“Alright,” Jason says, and Dick says goodbye and hangs up.

Jason leans his forehead against the cool surface of the fridge.

Tim calls him a few hours after that, informing him that he’s landed and is headed to the manor.

“I miss you,” he says, his voice a sigh down the line.

“Miss you, too,” Jason tells him. Then, “I got a call from Dick.”

“Oh. Yeah, I gave him your number.” After a pause, he adds, “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if it was okay with you—”

“No, it’s okay,” Jason says. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“He… he kept asking about you. Back when we were in Arizona, actually.”

“Oh,” Jason says.

“He was kind of angry that I went after you alone. He wanted to come see you too.” He hears Tim inhale shakily. “I didn’t—I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was guilt-tripping you.”

“It’s okay, Tim,” Jason assures him. “I don’t think I would have believed you anyway.”

Tim hums. “You should keep talking to him.”

Jason huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. I think I’ll text him tonight.”

“Okay. Don’t stay up too late,” he says teasingly, and Jason swears at him. “Talk again tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

He cooks himself dinner and sits in front of the TV to watch the Great Gatsby movie with Robert Redford.

When the movie ends, he sends the first of his daily texts to Mark, then opens up a new conversation.

Jason: (10:38pm) _ I’d prefer to text if that’s okay with you _

Dick responds a few minutes later.

Dick: (10:59pm) _ That’s cool _

Jason’s phone buzzes again in the middle of the night, and when he grabs it and flips it over, squinting at the screen, he rolls his eyes at what he sees.

Dick: (12:01am) _ :) _

***

A week goes by, and nothing out of the ordinary happens. He doesn’t even black out.

He continues texting Dick, and though their conversations are slightly stilted, Dick never stops responding. They talk about everything, about Bane, about Tim, about the embarrassing things Dick catches Damian doing during the day.

They don’t talk about Bruce however, and when Jason asks, all Dick says is, _ Bruce is busy getting his ass kicked. _

Jason doesn’t push for more.

He receives another call one evening from another unknown number. When he answers, he hears a voice that immediately makes him sit up.

“Master Jason.”

“Alfred?” Jason gasps, pressing his arm against his eyes.

“Master Jason,” Alfred says, his voice full of such fondness, it makes Jason’s heart clench.

“Alf, I—I—” He laughs a little hysterically. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours as well, sir,” Alfred answers good-humouredly. “I hear you’ve travelled many a mile.”

“I have, I’m in California,” he tells him, though he’s sure he must have heard it from Tim or Dick by now.

“California? That’s wonderful, sir. I hope you’re keeping yourself well-fed, I know for a fact you have an abundance of good restaurants to choose from over there.”

Jason smiles. “I think Tim and I have been to almost all the restaurants in Chinatown by now. We also got kicked out of one for eating too many dumplings on a buffet night.”

Alfred laughs. “I’m very glad you’re enjoying yourself, sir.”

“How’s everything back there?”

“Much louder now that Master Tim is here. I’d forgotten how much they like to bicker.”

Jason huffs a laugh.

“Will you… will you be visiting Gotham anytime in the future as well, Master Jason?”

“I don’t—I don’t know, Alf. I didn’t think I was allowed there anymore,” Jason answers softly.

“You will always be welcome here, Master Jason. I am sorry you ever felt that wasn’t the case.”

“It wasn’t—” Did Alfred not _ know? _ “Bruce told me to leave.”

Alfred goes silent.

“He called me after I—I—after that night with the truck—I broke my promise to him.”

Alfred still doesn’t say anything.

“Alf?”

Alfred clears his throat. “Excuse me, Master Jason. I think I owe someone a very firm word.”

“Alf, don’t—”

“The opinion of one selfish man does not matter, Master Jason. It is not as if he is the king of Gotham, no matter what the tabloids may say. You will always be welcome here, and you will always have a family to come back to, I’ll make sure of that.”

“But I’m—”

“A man. One who holds the lives and safety of others above his own. One who gives so much and expects nothing in return. I will always be proud of you, Master Jason, it has been an honour watching you grow into the young man you are today.”

Jason chokes back a sob, and Alfred speaks softly to him for a while, politely waiting for Jason to compose himself. They talk a little more about mundane things, about what Jason is cooking for dinner, about the cat Damian found roaming the gardens, and Jason hangs up and feels his chest fill up with a little more hope.

***

He wakes up in a place he doesn’t recognise. At first, he’s only shocked. Somehow he’d managed to black out _ and _ forget how he came to be here.

Then he’s terrified. How could he just forget where he is? How could he just forget how he came to be _ here _—in the middle of an empty parking lot in the middle of the night, on what looks to be the fifth floor?

He had it right all those months ago—he _ is _ going insane. Not even Claire would be able to keep him calm about this.

He pats himself down for his wallet, his phone—all he has are his keys. He left the fucking house without anything but his keys.

He keeps his breathing steady and walks to the ledge, looking out at the buildings and streets in the distance to see if he recognises anything.

There’s a lit up street that he thinks might be the shopping strip near his neighbourhood. Not too far then. Maybe a half hour walk.

He turns to head for the stairs, but freezes when he sees something in the shadows, at the far end of the parking lot.

There’s a face. Pale and smiling.

A deep chill runs through his core.

He breaks out into a sprint, and when he makes it to the stairway, he leaps over the railing and lands in a roll onto the floor below.

When he chances a glance up, the clown has followed him to the stairs, smiling down at him from the floor above.

Jason stumbles and doesn’t manage to catch himself, so he falls down several flights of stairs, somehow managing to protect his head from any major hits.

He lands on his back in a daze, but when he opens his eyes and looks up, the clown is gone.

He pushes himself up with a grunt, thankful when he learns that nothing appears to be broken.

He walks carefully down the rest of the way, huffing a sigh of relief when he reaches the street and sees a couple of people milling about and cars passing by.

Instead of trying to beg a cabbie for a ride home without any money, he decides to just brave the walk in the cold. He’s only wearing a shirt and a light jacket—the clothes he remembers putting on in the morning—so he starts shivering when he feels the chill of the midnight breeze.

Mark is waiting for him on his front porch. He gapes when he sees Jason, immediately getting to his feet and running over.

“Oh, thank god, you fucker, Tim’s about to book the next flight back, I gotta call him.” He notices Jason shivering, so he puts an arm around him and rubs his side. “Let’s get you inside though, bud.”

Mark’s a single, thirty-year-old man who plays with a band on the weekends at nearby clubs, so when he’s lead into an empty condo with no one else around to ask invasive questions or stare at him, Jason is grateful.

He sets Jason down on the couch and passes him a blanket which Jason takes with a thanks, wrapping it around himself and waiting for the warmth to chase away the chill.

“You like hot chocolate?” Mark asks from his kitchen. “You aren’t lactose intolerant or anything?”

“N—no, hot ch—chocolate’s fine,” Jason calls back through chattering teeth.

He hears Mark fiddling around in his kitchen, and when he comes back, he’s holding two mugs, one of which he gives to Jason.

He sits down on the opposite sofa, phone in hand, and Jason listens as he informs Tim of what’s happened.

“Nuh, man. Nuh. He’s good, he’s here now. Okay.” He holds the phone out to Jason. “He wants to talk to you, man,” he says.

Jason takes it from him, and is immediately subject to Tim’s worried voice rambling in his ear. “Jay, I’m so glad you’re okay. What happened? Where were you? Do you need me to come back?”

“No,” Jason answers quickly, “no. It’s okay, Tim, really. I’m okay. I blacked out again, but I’m back now, so it’s okay.”

“It isn’t—” Tim inhales sharply then sighs. “How long were you out for? Where did you go?”

Jason figures he’d only be making it worse if he lies—Tim has his ways of finding out the truth. “I don’t know. I woke up in a parking building on the other side of town. I don’t remember what I was doing before, I only remember the morning.”

Tim makes a soft sound, like a gasp but almost inaudible. “We need to figure out what’s happening to you.”

Jason bites his lip. “We might not be able to.”

“We will,” Tim states, sounding so sure of himself. “I’ve been talking to Bruce, Babs, Leslie—we’re gonna figure it out, Jay.”

“Okay,” Jason says. He looks up at Mark who is sipping from his mug and pretending not to listen. “Hey, I’m gonna let you go now, but don’t be too worried, alright?”

“I’ll try,” Tim answers wryly. “Is Mark looking after you?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, grinning at the mentioned man, “he made me hot chocolate.”

Mark smiles back, looking a little pink.

“I’ll pass you off now?” Jason asks Tim.

“Yeah. I’ll tell him thanks. Bye, Jay.”

“Bye, Tim,” Jason says. He hands the phone back to Mark and sips at his hot chocolate as Mark and Tim say their goodbyes.

When Mark hangs up, he looks thoughtfully at Jason, and Jason braces himself for the incoming questioning, but Mark simply asks, “You play Smash?”

Jason laughs. “Not since the N64.”

Mark whistles. “Oh boy. You up for an ass whooping?”

“Why not?”

They play until the early hours of morning, and Jason does get his ass whooped, and Mark turns out to be one of those players who shit talks his opponent the whole way through, but he has fun in spite of all that, and he says yes when Mark invites him to hang out again.

He forgets about the clown.

***

Mark invites him to watch his band play at a small bar venue on the weekend, and Jason goes because he has nothing else to do. He sits at a table alone, drinking a bottle of beer, and nodding along to the music.

It’s when a woman on the table next to his knocks over her cocktail onto the floor that Jason looks over and sees it again. The clown. Standing near the back door exit and smiling at him.

No one seems to see it but him.

Jason stares at it, his heart in his throat, then shuts his eyes and hopes it’ll disappear.

When he opens his eyes, the clown is closer.

Jason shoots up to his feet and pushes his way through the crowd towards the door. He ignores the stares of the bouncers when he finally makes it outside, thanking god when he sees there’s an empty taxi nearby.

He runs up to it and gets in, shooting off his address to the driver, and resisting the urge to look out the back window.

He does anyway. It’s there, staring at him from between the two bouncers, smile wider and more menacing than any of the other times he saw it.

Jason shrinks down into his seat.

The driver is sneaking suspicious glances at him, but he ignores him and focuses on getting his breathing under control.

Once he’s at home, he double checks all the doors and windows to make sure they’re locked and closes all the blinds.

He runs up to the bedroom and locks the door there too, climbing into bed and pressing his face into Tim’s pillow. It doesn’t smell like him anymore.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

With shaking hands, he manages to open the FaceTime app on his phone. Tim is, thankfully, his most recently dialled, so it’s simple enough to press his name and get another call going.

He waits anxiously as it rings, and his hope starts to dwindle when it reaches the sixth ring and Tim still hasn’t picked up. Just as he’s about to end the call, however, Tim’s face pops on screen.

“Jason?” he says, rubbing his eyes, “what’s up?”

But Jason isn’t focused on him. Tim is sitting in the Cave, Jason recognises his surroundings, but there, in the upper corner of the screen, is the clown’s face, smiling at Tim’s back.

“Tim,” he gets out, his voice barely a whisper, “behind you.”

Tim furrows his brows, then turns to look. He’s looking directly at the clown, but Jason knows he isn’t seeing it. He looks back at his phone and frowns. “What? Jason, is that supposed to be a joke?”

Jason can’t help it—his breathing goes shallow and loud in the silence, and he says, “Oh my god.”

Tim swivels around and the clown disappears. “Jason? What’s wrong?”

“I’m going crazy, Tim. I’m going fucking insane.”

“What?” Tim looks away from the phone. “What was it? What did you see?”

“I saw—I saw _ him, _ Tim. The Joker.”

Tim purses his lips. “Jay, the Joker’s in Arkham. He’s not here.”

Jason shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I’ve been seeing him for weeks—he was fucking there when I blacked out.”

“Jay… you’re hallucinating. You need to talk to Claire—”

“These aren’t hallucinations. They feel so real.”

“They’re _ not. _ The Joker is here in Gotham, Bruce has access to a live feed of him in his cell. He isn’t anywhere near you, Jay. You’re okay.”

A sob escapes Jason’s chest. “I’m scared.”

Tim watches him, his features wrought with concern. “I’m coming back,” he says eventually.

“What?”

“I’m coming back,” Tim repeats.

Jason watches as he shifts the phone around and sets it down. Then he starts typing away at his laptop.

“I’m booking a flight now, I’ll try and get there by morning.”

“Tim,” Jason starts.

“They don’t need me here anymore anyway. Bruce has Bane captured, it’s only a matter of rounding up his lackeys now. They can do it without me.” He snaps his laptop shut and picks the phone up again. “I got a flight at ten. I’ll be there around one.”

“One?”

“Six hours,” Tim says. “Can you manage? What about Mark, is he at home?”

“No,” Jason answers. “He’s playing at a bar. I was there but then…”

Tim nods. “I’m sorry. You’re gonna be alright, Jay. What do you need?”

“Just—talk to me?”

“Okay. I gotta pack so I’ll bring you upstairs with me.”

Jason sees snatches of the manor as Tim heads up to his room, brief glances of paintings on the walls, vases, windows. All the while, Tim is narrating his journey, telling him about the argument he had with Damian in the hallway, the time he spied Dick checking himself out in the mirror, the time he nearly made Alfred spill a pot of tea when he rushed out of one of the rooms.

“I wish you were here,” he says at one point. “The whole time I’ve been here, I’ve been missing you. I annoyed everyone so much talking about you.”

Jason feels better enough now to huff out a laugh. “What did you say?”

Jason catches the hint of a blush on Tim’s cheeks before he angles the phone away. “Just stuff about you being amazing and being super stoked that you’re mine.”

Jason smiles. “You are such a sap.”

“It’s true though,” Tim says, and he sets the phone down again so Jason can watch him pack. “Steph told me I should make a visual novel and make you the love interest, that’s how much I’ve been waxing poetic apparently.”

“I don’t know what that means and I don’t know if I want to.”

“Yeah, I was counting on that. It’s why I told you,” Tim says, grinning.

Jason smiles, then sighs. “I don’t know why I’m scared,” he says quietly. “I’ve fought so many bad guys before, I don’t know why I’m so fucking scared.”

Tim puts the clothes he was folding down and looks at him. “Being scared doesn’t make you weak,” he says resolutely. “We’re all scared of him. _ Bruce _ is scared of him.”

“But I’m scared of something that isn’t even real.”

“It _ feels _ real to you, didn’t you say? Sometimes that’s all it takes. But Jay, you’re strong. You’re brave. I know that you can face it head on. You’ve been doing it for weeks, haven’t you?”

“Because I’ve had no other choice,” Jason argues. “I’m only facing it because I can’t get rid of it.”

Tim shakes his head and throws the last of his clothes into his suitcase before he zips it up. “Jay, baby, I gotta get to the airport now. I’ll try and get Dick to call you, but please—stay strong for me. Stay safe. I love you.”

Jason feels the darkness creeping up on him again. “I love you,” he says before the call ends.

He swallows, gripping onto his phone tight, staring into the brightness of the screen.

He stays lying on his bed, and he doesn’t move.

***

No one calls him.

It’s already one, and no one has called him.

He’s shut his eyes a few times, but he hasn’t managed to sleep; every time he hears the slightest noise, he tenses up and holds his breath.

He’s insane—this is fucking insane, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Mark might be home by now, but he doesn’t want to bother him—he doesn’t want to let him see how much of a nutjob he really is.

Tim should have landed by now, or he’ll be landing soon—Jason doesn’t know, but he knows that Tim will be here soon, and he holds onto that fact to keep himself going, to stop himself from breaking down entirely.

It works well enough until he hears a creak on the stairs.

It’s not Tim—it’s too early for him to be here. And Jason didn’t hear the front door.

His heart drops out of his stomach, but instead of hiding under the covers, he forces himself to his feet. He’s going to face this thing head on. He’s not going to run away this time. He draws himself up to his full height and takes a deep breath. He grabs the gun he hides in the bedside table, but keeps the safety on—he doesn’t aim to use it, it’s only for his peace of mind.

When he gets to the door though, he loses all resolve when he hears the thing on the other side laugh.

A high, menacing laugh. One that Jason hears in his nightmares.

He backs away from the door.

But it bursts open with a bang, and a green, white, and purple blur flies into the room.

Jason trips and falls as it descends on him, a pale face and wide grin the only thing he sees before he feels the blunt edge of a crowbar dig into his gut. He screams, putting his arms above him to try and deflect the hits, but the clown only swings at them too, batting them away, and Jason feels it when the crowbar comes down again and cracks his ribs. He coughs up blood, wheezing and begging for it to stop, but the clown only laughs and hits him again and again.

“Please—” he begs, through the tears and blood in his mouth, “—please—Batman—”

The clown laughs even louder at that and hits Jason across the face.

When he comes to, Tim is dashing to his side, screaming. “Oh my god, oh my _ god, _ Jason!”

He hears Tim calling for an ambulance, and when he tries to talk, all that comes out is a gurgle.

“Just sit still, Jay,” Tim tells him, trying to wipe the blood away from his mouth. “Christ, _ Christ, _ what the fuck.”

It feels like ages before the paramedics come. They carry him up onto a stretcher and Tim sits by him in the ambulance and holds his hand.

In the hospital, Jason watches from his bed as the doctors speak in hushed tones to Tim outside. When Tim comes into the room, he looks utterly defeated.

“They said they can’t find anything wrong. No broken bones, nothing.”

When he breaks down crying in the chair beside Jason’s bed, Jason doesn’t even have the energy to reach out and comfort him.

“You don’t even have a bruise, Jay,” Tim cries into his hands. “When they cleaned up the blood, there was nothing. _ Nothing.” _

Jason’s too exhausted to think about this now. He asks Tim to take him home, but Tim tells him he can’t because the doctors want to keep an eye on him. Jason sinks into the uncomfortable hospital pillow and tries to fall asleep.

***

“I’m fucking crazy,” Jason says aloud once they’re home.

“No, you’re not,” Tim snaps. “Because if you are, I am too. I saw it, Jay. I saw it happening. I walked in and you were screaming on the floor. I saw what it was doing to you—it looked like something was hitting you but I just couldn’t see it.”

Jason furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the impact on your body. I saw it where it was hitting you, I _ saw _ it.”

Jason looks down at himself, at where the bruises should be, the broken bones. “So what?”

“This means I was wrong. This is very real, Jay. Something is happening to you, and—” He stops, his pale blue eyes filled with pain. “I’m scared. But I’m not going to let anything more happen to you. I am going to fucking figure this out.”

Jason follows him when he sits on the floor, tying his hair up into a high ponytail and pulling his laptop open.

“This is obviously something more than a hallucination,” he says, tapping away at the keyboard. “Can you think of anyone who might have something against you? Besides the normal crooks on the street, maybe Ivy? Some sort of fucking alien, anything?”

Jason shakes his head. He doesn’t usually deal with anything interstellar, and he tends to avoid Ivy like the fucking plague. “No, no one. Black Mask is the only major player I can think of.”

Tim types something and presses Enter. “Black Mask? Do you think he has any access to magic-users, supernatural beings, aliens?”

“Stop fucking bringing up aliens, there are no aliens involved with him, alright?”

“We have to consider every possibility—”

“Why do we have to consider anything?” Jason snarls. “Maybe this is a just fucking sign from the universe. I died and I didn’t come back right, so now it’s trying to right a wrong and send me back where I fucking belong.”

“Oh,” Tim says, suddenly looking up with wide eyes.

“What?” Jason snaps.

“Right a wrong…” Tim murmurs. “Maybe you’re right.”

“What?” Jason says again, but Tim is getting up and walking across the room. “What are you doing?”

“I think have to find him,” Tim is saying, picking up his phone and dialing a number, “I was wrong, I was looking at people you might’ve crossed in your _ life _ when I should have been looking at your rebirth.”

Jason shakes his head, uncomprehending. “Find who?”

“Ra’s. I have to find Ra’s.”

Jason feels his brows fly up. Whoever Tim is calling finally answers, and Jason listens in as he tries to convince Bruce to lend him the jet.

“This is _ important, _ B, you have no idea—Have _ Damian _ fly it to us, I don’t care. No, I am sure of it now. This is more than any of us know how to handle. We need Ra’s. No. No, that’s _ stupid _—”

When he hangs up, he looks more annoyed than anything else.

“Dick will be here in three hours. He’s going to stay here and look after you. I’m going to find Ra’s.”

Jason stares at him. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

“No,” Tim says. “I’m going to talk to Ra’s—I think he’s the only person who knows what’s going on with you.”

“Why?” Jason asks incredulously.

“Jason, you were put in a Lazarus Pit after you came back to life. Everyone knows it causes madness—you become better eventually, but I think the effects are coming back for some reason. Maybe this is just what happens—I don’t know, but he’s the only other person we know who actually uses the things, he’ll have the answers.”

“You think I’m blacking out and seeing the Joker because I got dunked into a Lazarus Pit once,” Jason says slowly.

“Well, can you think of a better explanation?”

“I can probably come up with one that isn’t as fucking ridiculous as _ this!” _

“Well, we at least have to try. There’s nothing wrong with trying.”

“Tim, this is Ra’s. He could _ kill _ you.”

“And you could die,” Tim says evenly. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

Jason breathes heavily. “No. I’m not letting you go.”

“You don’t have to let me do anything, I’m going.”

They argue about it for an hour more, but Jason knows he can’t stop Tim unless he physically restrains him, which he is sorely tempted to do.

He doesn’t though. He watches Tim leave from the window, and when he turns to reach for his phone, to maybe try and get Dick to talk to him, he catches sight of a pale face and a red smile in the dark hallway.

Jason feels all the air in his lungs go out of him at once. The edges of his vision blur, and Jason can just barely make out the clown advancing towards him again before he blacks out.

***

When he wakes up, he can’t move.

Or maybe he can, but it pains him too much to try. Every time he makes an attempt to push himself up, sharp flares of pain travel up his arms, and when he sobs from the sting, it hurts his ribs too. He tries moving his legs, but he thinks they’re broken because even just trying to bend one is excruciating.

His breaths are shallow and weak, and each breath he takes is harder than the last. He can’t get enough air into his lungs.

All he can do is try to keep his eyes open.

He’s somewhere he doesn’t recognise again. The ceiling is an awful mustard colour, the windows are too high up to see out of. There’s a clock on the wall to his left indicating that it’s close to midnight.

The room looks small—a motel, maybe? There’s a queen size bed and a TV, and what looks to be bathroom tucked behind a wall. Whether or not he’s still in L.A., he doesn’t know.

He tastes blood too, feels it thick and sticky in his throat. He chokes a little on it, so he turns his head to the side and spits some of it out. He looks at the small puddle of blood and saliva on the carpet next to him. Perhaps there’s more blood than he initially thought.

He slowly moves his hands down to his pants, patting gently at his pockets. They’re empty. He feels the last of his hope leave him.

But this is what he wanted, isn’t it? This is what he wanted to do all those months ago, lying alone in a motel room at night.

It’s fitting then, that he’s alone now too.

He hasn’t cried in a long while. Not properly. After pressing his hands against his eyes so many times and effectively numbing whatever pain he felt, he’d managed to stall the tears for quite a while. But as he lies there, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, he starts to realise some things.

He doesn’t remember there being anything when he died, the first time. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no familiar voice to guide him anywhere. There was nothing. And even if some sort of afterlife existed, who would be waiting for him? His father? His mother? He laughs derisively at the thought. He’s never been religious, but he knows for certain that no heaven would ever house a pair of neglectful parents who abused him and used him and used their welfare for drugs. Then again, no heaven would ever welcome someone like him either. So perhaps he _will_ be seeing his family soon.

He catches sight of the clock on the wall. It’s been ten minutes. He can barely lift his head anymore. No one is coming for him. That is probably for the best though; whatever’s happening isn’t going to be pretty. He’d rather be found by a paramedic, someone who can be impersonal about it, who can declare him dead and be done with it. Be buried as some John Doe where Tim, Bruce, or Dick can’t find him.

As if Bruce would look for him anyway. Jason doesn’t think he would be particularly upset if Jason were to pass away. He might have been, if this were the first time. Twice just takes away the impact.

He hasn’t cried in a long while, but he feels the warm stinging in his eyes, the dampness on his scalp as the tears seep past his temples. He wishes he could taste them, taste the unique saltiness on his tongue he hasn’t tasted in months. But his senses are failing him. He can barely feel the floor beneath him now, cannot tell if, when he orders his fingers to move, they do. He doubts he would be able to taste his tears.

For the first time in a long time, he isn’t scared anymore. There’s no pale face laughing in the corner of his vision, no blood leaking out of his body. There is only him and the bare ceiling above him, blank, so auspiciously blank.

As he lies still, letting his breaths slow, letting the edges of his vision blur and cloud, all he can think is:

Finally.

***

He remembers the first time he put on the Robin outfit. It was a little big on him, a little loose, but he’d punched an extra hole in his belt and hoped to god that he wouldn’t lose a glove during the night.

He remembers taking that first leap off a building with his cape fluttering behind him. He’d felt almost like a bird spreading his wings, like he was flying. Free, like he could do anything.

He was Robin, the Boy Wonder, and he could do anything.

The night was calm, the moon was full, and when the Bat-Signal came on, Jason remembers how bright it looked against the black expanse of the sky, how much excitement filled his tiny body and thrummed within his chest.

He remembers coming back to the Cave that night, back home, high off the exhilaration of flying and fighting alongside Batman.

He was so indescribably happy, all he could do was smile and shut his eyes in bliss when Bruce reached down to ruffle his hair and tell him, “Good job, son.”

The same feeling comes to him now, as Bruce wraps him up in his arms.

His touch still feels the same. Jason’s surprised he can even remember it, but his warmth, his smell is so familiar, so comforting, he is reminded of a father he used to love and a home in which he used to live. Jason clings harder onto him, fearful that he might leave and take with him all these wonderful feelings, but he doesn’t leave. He just gathers up Jason further into his arms, and runs his fingers through his hair like he used to do.

Maybe this is what heaven is like. Maybe this is what he missed out on, the first time.

He hears Bruce murmuring to him, and though the sound soothes him, his voice a rolling, deep timbre in his ears, his tone soon becomes urgent, and Jason feels a shot of worry burst through his contentment.

“Open your eyes, Jason. Open your eyes.”

Jason doesn’t want to open his eyes. What if he opens them and he wakes back up in a casket?

But Bruce’s voice is insistent. “Son, you need to open your eyes.”

_ Don’t make me, _ he wants to beg. _ Let me stay here with you. _

But Bruce is pleading with him now. “Please, Jason. Look at me.”

Jason’s never really been good at ignoring him.

He opens his eyes, and though the world is too bright to really see at first, he knows he isn’t where he thought he was.

There are large pillars extending from the floor to the roof, there are jagged rocks above him, around him, and the room—no, the _ cave _ is filled with an unnaturally bright green light. There aren’t any openings above to indicate any sort of light source from outside though, but when he looks down, past his feet, the source of the light becomes clear.

It’s a pit. Large enough it almost touches the walls of the cave, and bubbling with a glowing, viscous, green liquid that is both menacing and familiar.

He feels a sob work its way up his throat. He was right. It’s happened again.

But this time, it isn’t Talia looking down at him. It’s Bruce. And rather than a sordid mix of expectation and indifference, Bruce is looking down at him with what Jason can only describe as relief.

“Jason,” he says, and Jason hears it in his voice, sees it in his worried blue eyes, feels it in the grip of his hands—his concern isn’t manufactured, he isn’t pretending for Jason’s sake.

“You came for me,” he rasps. His throat feels like it’s been torn up inside.

Bruce’s rigid shoulders slump, his stone mask breaks, and his entire gait changes in the breath of a second. “Of course.”

“I thought I was—I thought—”

Bruce pulls him up closer, against his chest, and even if Jason has the strength to pull away, he wouldn’t. Bruce’s voice is shaky with tears as he says, “I’ll always find you—you’re my _ son.” _

Jason cries out, feeling overwhelmed and so, so grateful, and though he feels weak, though he probably won’t be able to walk, he grips Bruce tight and watches his knuckles turn white.

He wants Bruce to stay. He wants to stay with Bruce. He doesn’t want Bruce to hand him off to someone else and leave. He doesn’t offer any objection when Bruce stands, barely even fazed by Jason’s weight in his arms, and walks them up the stone stairs.

“What—” he rasps, staring back down at the Lazarus Pit until they round a corner and it’s gone from his vision, “Where—”

“Shh. I’ll explain to you in the jet,” Bruce tells him, voice soft and patient. “For now, just rest.”

Jason buries his face in Bruce’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut when they walk out of the cave into the sunlight. He feels himself being placed into a seat, feels the loud hum of an engine as the jet takes off. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes though, he feels exhausted, and the world is still much too bright.

He hears Bruce speak, almost too quiet over the noise of the jet, “You can sleep, Jason, it’s alright. I’m right here.”

Jason sleeps.

***

When he wakes, he’s in a different place again, but this one is much more familiar and a thousand times more comforting. He’s laying on a bed, thick, warm blankets and soft pillows tucked around him, and when he turns to the side, he sees someone he hasn’t seen in a long while.

“Welcome back home,” Alfred says from across the room.

Somehow, Alfred looks older, much older than when he saw him last. He can’t quite tell what it is—maybe it’s a few more wrinkles, a few less hairs, a slightly larger hunch in his gait. Whatever it is, it makes Jason tear up because he has dearly missed him, and he doesn’t want to think about the fact that Alfred’s aged so noticeably in the time that he’s been gone.

“Alf,” he chokes out, and Alfred immediately comes to him, putting his arms gently around Jason and patting his back.

“I’ve missed you terribly, sir,” Alfred says softly.

“Missed you, too,” Jason whispers back, unwilling to let go.

It’s nice, it’s warm in Alfred’s embrace, and though he’s never showed much physical affection before, Alfred doesn’t make any attempt to move away. Jason is touched.

When they part, Jason sees that Bruce has entered the room behind him, and Alfred steps away as Bruce comes to the bed. Now that Jason has had some time to recover, now that he can see Bruce clearly, the first thing he notices is how utterly bone-weary he looks, from the dark circles under his eyes to the slight swaying like he could collapse at any moment. His face still softens when he sees Jason though, and Jason doesn’t want to look too far into that lest he start fantasising about Bruce actually taking him back.

“What happened?” Jason asks.

“There’s a lot you need to know,” Bruce says. “But first, you have a few more visitors.”

Dick and Tim enter the room next, and though Dick is a lot more reserved with his greeting for Jason, simply reaching down and squeezing his shoulder, Jason sees how red his eyes are.

Tim practically leaps onto the bed and presses a kiss to Jason’s lips. It’s fervent, it’s wet, and he holds nothing back. Jason sees a number of eyes widen in his periphery, but none of them look really offended or angry.

Tim stays seated next to Jason on the bed, though Alfred admonishes him about giving him space, but Jason takes Tim’s hand in his and squeezes it gratefully; he’s had enough of being alone for a lifetime.

Slowly, the room settles and everyone seems to pause and take a deep breath. A bird outside sings a melody, and another sings one back. It’s bright outside. Sunny.

“So what happened?” Jason asks once again, and everyone in the room seems to share a look with each other, communicating silently.

Eventually, Bruce pulls up a chair and sits beside the bed, and Alfred and Dick leave the room, stating that they don’t need to be here for this, but ensuring Jason that they’ll be nearby in case he needs them.

Together, Bruce and Tim recount the events of the previous day.

“Well, I’m not sure how much you remember,” Tim starts, “but I left. I left to meet Dick at the park because I was informed _ he _ was going to be flying in with the jet.” He looks at Bruce pointedly. “Imagine my surprise when B here climbed out instead and told me that he was going to handle it.”

“I’d’ve been surprised too,” Jason agrees.

Tim nods. “I wasn’t even _talking_ to Bruce. I was angry for what he did to you,” he admits, and when Bruce looks at him, he doesn’t look back. “I hadn’t even properly told him what was wrong. He just showed up when I told him it was about you.”

“Oh,” Jason says. And now he feels Bruce staring right at him, but he doesn’t want to look up.

“When we came back to the house,” Tim continues, “you were gone. The front door was open and you weren’t inside.”

“Tim pulled up nearby CCTV footage to determine where you’d gone,” Bruce says. “We discovered you’d sleep-walked to another motel across town. We found you in one of the rooms, lying in a pool of your own blood.”

Jason nods. “I remember that. Waking up in the motel.”

Tim squeezes his hand. “Did you see anything?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just me. The blood. I could feel… the pain.”

“Like that time before? When you had to go to the hospital?” Tim asks.

“Like before. Except, this time, I think I was unconscious for the beating. I don’t remember it.”

He hears Tim breathe out slowly. “I think… whatever it was you were seeing, whatever you were _ feeling, _ was some sort of—well, I called it an _ echo _ of the moments before you died.”

“An echo?” Jason repeats, confused.

“You said something about the universe ‘righting a wrong.’ You came back to life, but not completely whole, and the Pit restored some part of you that was missing. I think that, because it’s been several years since—”

“Five years, to be exact,” Bruce says.

“Five years,” Tim repeats. “Because it’s been five years, the effects of the Pit were fading, and whatever it gave you wasn’t going to last.”

“You were regressing,” Bruce says. “Back to how you were before the Pit. The brain damage, the bones, the blood, even the memories. The Pit took it all away, but it was coming back to you.”

“But—but that doesn’t explain how Tim could _ see _ him, the Joker. He told me he saw him hurting me.”

Bruce purses his lips. “The Pit has incredible power, Jason. It gives Ra’s immortal life. Perhaps, these echoes, these _ projections _ of your memory were strengthened by its power.”

Jason huffs a disbelieving laugh. “So, what does that mean? If the Pit’s effects on me were fading, if I _ was _ regressing back to before, does that mean I died again?”

Bruce and Tim look at each other.

Bruce seems to shrink, looking down at his feet for a second before speaking again. “You were barely alive when we found you, Jason.”

“You were still breathing. Your heart was still beating,” Tim says reassuringly.

“But you were weak.” Bruce’s hands tremble slightly where Jason can see them. “I could barely feel your pulse. You wouldn’t respond to anything. So I put you in the jet and I took you to Ra’s.”

“And you put me in the Pit again to save my life,” Jason finishes for them.

“And I put you in the Pit,” Bruce says softly.

“But Ra’s—it couldn’t have been that simple, he wouldn’t have just agreed to let you use his Pit. He would’ve tried to stop you.” Jason narrows his eyes suspiciously. “But he wasn’t around. Where was he? What did you do?”

Bruce smiles, a little sadly, a little warily. “Well, I had to convince him to let me use it. We made a deal.”

Jason swallows. “A—a deal? What sort of deal?”

“I’m not sure. I promised him I would come when he called upon me. That could be any time from tomorrow to fifty years in the future.”

Jason gapes at him. _“Why?_ Why would you do that? Ra’s is—what if he wants to, I don’t know, _ kill _ you or something—”

“If you have to ask why, it seems I haven’t made myself clear about why I came to California, and why I flew you thousands of miles to Al Ghul.”

Jason shakes his head. “I don’t understand—you _ hate _ me,” he insists, and it’s then that the tears he’d been fighting finally break free and fall down his cheeks.

He sees, through his blurry vision, Bruce and Tim silently communicating with each other, then feels Tim squeeze his thigh gently as he manoeuvres around Jason and hops off the bed, leaving the room.

Bruce stands from his chair and sits on the edge of the bed, hesitant and cautious, like he’s expecting Jason to flinch away or tell him off. He doesn’t. And he doesn’t hesitate when he leans into Bruce’s embrace, Bruce wrapping him up in his arms again, steadfastly silent as Jason cries into his shirt.

“You hate me,” Jason says again, like if he says it enough Bruce will admit it’s true. “I killed people, you don’t want a killer for a son.”

“I don’t want a killer for a son,” Bruce agrees, and Jason cries harder. “But I want you. You will always be my son, Jason. Nothing will change that.”

“But I’m a _ killer.” _

Bruce sighs heavily. “You broke our promise. You gave into your anger, your rage, and you killed a disarmed man in cold blood.” Softening his tone, he continues, “But your anger was understandable. I know how strongly you feel about children, about the innocent. I am not saying that I’d look the other way if you did it again, I’m not saying that it was _ right, _ but I have faith in you, Jason. I believe you can do better.”

“You say you have faith in me, but you made me leave,” Jason argues, his voice breaking. “Even though I know it was justified, even though I _ know _ I deserved it, I—I was so alone.” His thoughts automatically go back to the weeks he was living in that motel, sitting on some fine edge of complete disregard for his own life, over the undercurrent of an utter _ longing _ for a home, for a place to belong. To be loved.

“I know,” Bruce says, his tone defeated. “Tim told me everything.”

Jason clenches his fist against Bruce’s chest. “Then why didn’t you look for me? Why didn’t you at least _ try _ to call?”

“Jason, there was almost no way for me to find you, it was only after Tim found you—with his own trackers—did I have a chance to reach out, and even then he didn’t tell me he was with you until California. You left behind everything. Everyone. You made it seem like you didn’t want to be found, so I let you have your space.”

Jason shuts his eyes and grits his teeth in frustration. “So all that time, you didn’t call because you thought I didn’t want you to?”

Bruce nods. “I didn’t want to push you further away from me. Telling you to leave was a terrible, terrible, misguided mistake.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

“Jason,” Bruce furrows his brows and frowns deeply, “I could never hate you. I love you.”

The warmth that blooms inside of him from hearing those three words is so overwhelming, he can feel it filling his chest and spilling over onto his cheeks, so he presses his face harder into Bruce’s chest.

Eventually, after hours, minutes—he doesn’t know how long—they part, and Bruce leaves him to rest.

Jason naps, dozing off to the sound of warm voices through the walls, footsteps on hardwood floors and old rugs, and he thinks he might dream of being a little boy again, living in a proper home for the first time in his life, surrounded by people he might one day call his friends, his family.

“Excuse me, sir,” Alfred’s voice chimes through his shallow sleep, immediately startling him awake, Jason looking up to see him standing in the doorway. The world is dark through the windows. “Dinner is ready.”

Jason picks at his food, but barely eats anything. His thoughts are swimming with the events of the past few months, and they linger especially on the last twenty-four hours.

Tim is beside him, going on like Jason hasn’t just nearly died, like they’re simply back in Gotham visiting the family for dinner.

He can feel Dick staring at him from across the table, however, and the extra pair of eyes he feels on his back might be Alfred’s, so perceptive at all times, and Jason understands their concern but he hates being scrutinised like he’s going to fall apart right before their eyes.

Damian, who had respected his space and given him a curt but not unkind greeting of, “Todd,” eventually pipes up from his seat and asks the question they’re all thinking.

“What will you do when this happens again?”

Not _ if _ but _ when. _ Because they all know it will. It’s inevitable.

When no one answers, Damian continues. “Surely another one of you won’t be tempted to strike another deal with Grandfather.” He turns to Tim pointedly, brow arched. “You must have a better plan than that.”

Tim shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Jason reaches over and places his hand on top of his. “You don’t need to do that,” he says quietly to him. Then, louder, “None of you need to do that.”

“We’ll find another Pit then,” Tim says, shrugging. “We’ll find one Ra’s doesn’t know about, and we’ll hide it and protect it until you need it.”

“No,” Jason says firmly. “You might not ever find one. Don’t waste your life trying to save mine—”

“It isn’t wasting my life if I want to spend it with _you,”_ Tim snaps at him.

“Enough,” Bruce speaks up from the head of the table.

Jason doesn’t stop though. “The Pit makes you live forever, right? But only if you keep using it. I’m not meant to be alive, my being alive is _ unnatural. _ Maybe the next time it happens, I should just—just—”

“Die?” Damian supplies for him, and Dick nudges him with his elbow.

Jason nods. “Die. I should just die and stay dead.”

“Jason,” Tim admonishes, flipping his hand over and tangling his fingers in his.

“Look, it happens to all of us eventually. I don’t wanna become someone like Ra’s. No offence,” he adds, tilting his head towards Damian who rolls his eyes. “I just wanna enjoy my life now and then when it’s time for me to go, I’ll go.”

The entire table is silent after that, save for Dick, who says placatingly, “Okay, Jay.”

Tim doesn’t add anything, doesn’t try to argue, but Jason feels him tense up and glare down at his food.

Jason knows they’re going to be having a long talk later.

But for now—

Dick hops up from his chair and grins. “Wanna go downstairs? We haven’t sparred in a while.”

_ “I _ haven’t sparred in a while.” He pushes away from the table anyway and starts following Dick down to the Cave.

Alfred calls after them about resting right after eating, but Dick is bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly and Jason can’t help but be influenced by him, just a little.

He gets his ass thoroughly beat, and when two more sets of feet wander into his vision as he’s lying on the training mat with Dick’s weight on top of him, he knows he’s going to be painfully sore and bruised tomorrow.

He can’t bring himself to care too much though, not when Tim cackles like a madman beside him when he manages to make Jason fall face first into the mat, or when Dick and even Damian join in when the sparring turns into play fighting, and they end up chasing each other through the small maze of the Cave.

“I missed this,” Dick confides to him, in a quiet moment hidden away behind a giant coin, while they listen to Tim and Damian bicker as they scour the rest of the Cave in search for them.

“Me too,” Jason says.

***

“Are you leaving?”

Jason freezes. He’s halfway down the driveway, walking because he has no bike. He’d packed a bag full of old clothes and ‘borrowed’ some cash from Bruce—he doubts he’ll even notice anyway.

He turns, holding his rucksack tight, and is met with Bruce’s frowning face. He’s alone out here with Jason, but Jason knows that once the others notice that they’re both gone, they’ll come looking for them.

Bruce is looking at him expectantly.

Jason opens his mouth and shuts it again. “I was planning to go back to L.A.”

Still staring, Bruce blinks slowly. “If L.A. is where you want to live,” he starts.

“I,” Jason licks his lips nervously, “like it in L.A.”

Bruce nods. “That’s good. It’s an exciting place.”

Jason nods too. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

He could leave it at that, he could say goodbye and turn and continue back down the driveway, but Bruce is _ right there _ in front of him, and Jason has been away long enough that his feet stay planted to the ground, unwilling to leave again so quickly.

“I miss Gotham,” he admits. “I’ve lived here my whole life, I should be sick of it, but I’m not. I think Tim misses it too. He won’t say anything, but I know he doesn’t want to stay in L.A. forever. I won’t make him stay with me if he doesn’t want that.”

Bruce hums and tilts his head. “What do _ you _ want?”

Jason shrugs and huffs. “I mean, I’d like to go back. There are people I haven’t said goodbye to. And I still haven’t been to Disneyland.”

Bruce smiles. “It would be nice this time of year.”

“So maybe Cali first. And then…”

“And then…?”

Jason grimaces. “I wanna come back, Bruce. But I don’t know about coming back to this life.” He gestures around them vaguely and knows Bruce will understand. He’s already had a taste of a normal life, and he isn’t sure about going back to the one before.

Bruce steps forward and puts his hand on Jason’s shoulder. It’s heavy and warm, grounding in a way that Jason’s been needing for a while. “That is up to you. You don’t have to feel obligated to put the outfit back on and come back to the streets. All heroes tire of the life eventually.” He squeezes Jason’s shoulder lightly and gives an encouraging smile. “And that _ is _ what you are, a hero.”

Jason grimaces at that again, but doesn’t say anything.

Continuing, Bruce says, “You don’t need to know now, you don’t need to force yourself to choose.”

Nodding down at his feet, Jason sighs. “I guess so.”

“There are so many other things you could do. You could go to college. You could work in a bookstore. I know you love your books, if you wanted to become a librarian, you could,” Bruce adds.

A startled laugh bursts out of his lips. “A librarian?”

Bruce’s eyes brighten at the sound of Jason’s laugh. “Or whatever you want.”

He shakes his head, dragging the tip of his shoe through the gravel of the driveway. “That’s the thing, I don’t know what I want. I could… do those things. But where do I even start? After Cali, after—_ if _ I come back, what am I gonna do? I—do I even deserve to have that kind of life—?”

“Deserve?” Bruce repeats, furrowing his brows.

“I’m not,” Jason licks his lips, “I’m not a hero, B. I never was.”

“Jason, we all make mistakes. I made one when I told you to leave. I regret it every single day, even now. But, believe me, if there’s one thing I do not regret—it’s taking a chance on you.”

An involuntary tremble runs through Jason’s body at that, and Bruce must feel it because he takes Jason into his arms again. Jason exhales shakily as he is enveloped in the protective and steady embrace of his father.

“You know what you do?” Bruce says, when Jason has wiped the tears from his eyes.

Jason looks into his eyes, into blue, so unlike his own but reminiscent of a childhood he’d forgotten he had, where he had the love of a caring father who was, as all fathers are, flawed and imperfect, but who was also the man who gave him a chance at the world.

“You live,” he says. “That’s all you do. You live.”

***

He and Tim do end up going to Disneyland.

Surprisingly, it isn’t the kids who end up being the most annoying part of it, but the parents. Many of them are impatient. Foul. Obnoxious and borderline aggressive. When he witnesses the sixth parent yelling at their kid—a dad yelling at his son for some stupid, petty reason—Jason unhooks his arm from Tim’s to march over and call the guy out.

Tim rushes over to stop him and drag him away. They see the man, oblivious to their staring, heave a heavy sigh and run a hand down his face, and watch as he utters a quiet apology to his son before taking him by the hand to lead him to the ice cream shop nearby.

Jason deflates, feeling the flare of anger fade and settle back into a general annoyance for the attitudes of some of the people they’ve come across today.

Tim offers him a small smile, and they walk off to line up for the Splash Mountain ride. Jason usually hates lining up for rides, but having Tim with him makes it fun, as they spend most of it playing silly games, like singing a line of a song and having the other person try to remember and sing the next, and, equally as fun, creating a story, one word at a time.

“And.”

“Then.”

“She.”

“Precociously.”

“Precocious—_ precociously?” _ Tim makes a face. “What am I even supposed to say next?”

“Teetered.”

_ “Teet _—okay, I hate that. Start over.”

“Coward.”

Tim lifts an eyebrow and defiantly adds, “That.”

“Was.”

“What.”

“They.”

“Called.”

“Tim.”

Tim bursts out in laughter, startling the couple in front of them. “Shut up!” he says, poking Jason in the ribs.

They don’t really get much thrill out of the ride—not after years of swinging and flying through Gotham’s rooftops—but Tim screams like a maniac anyway at the drop, and Jason, caught up in his antics, laughs and screams too, and their photo, in the end, looks absolutely ridiculous but Tim pays for it anyway and slides it into his bag.

“Are you really gonna keep that?” Jason asks him, imagining him framing it and hanging it up on the wall for them to see everyday. He snorts at the thought.

“Of course. Don’t you think our house is a little empty? It could do with some pictures. This can be the first.”

Jason presses his lips together so he doesn’t say anything sappy and embarrassing that Tim could tease him about later. He gets enough of that from Dick.

Later on that week, however, back at their new house in Gotham, Dick laughs at the photo for a solid minute and snaps his own photo of it on his phone, sending it off to god knows who.

“We should all go to Disney World next,” he suggests. “Florida isn’t too far away. We might even be able to convince Dami to come.”

“You can’t bring that demon to the happiest place on Earth. It’s like bringing a baby into a cinema—he’ll annoy the fuck out of everyone and everyone will look at _ you _ like _ you’re _ the asshole.”

“Aren’t you the asshole for bringing the baby into the cinema though?” Tim questions, staring up at the ceiling from the couch.

“Yeah. You are, which is why I’m not taking Damian with us to Disney World.” He raises his hands. “I don’t wanna be that guy.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “I bring up Damian once and Jason immediately turns rabid. You guys need to bond more.”

“Whatever,” Jason flicks a hand dismissively, stirring the pasta sauce on the stove with the other. “Get out of my damn house, Grayson. Who invited you, anyway?”

“Your better half, obviously,” Dick says, stepping up close behind Jason and peering over his shoulder. “When’s dinner gonna be ready?”

“Ask that one more time and I’ll flick this on your shirt,” Jason growls, raising the wooden spoon and turning to watch Dick back away.

“Then he’ll just take it off and walk around half-naked,” Tim says, weaving between them both to grab some plates from the cupboards and set them on the table. “It’s a lose-lose for all of us.”

Dick makes an offended sound and says, _ “Excuse _ me. So when Jason does it, it’s alright, but when I do it—”

“Jason’s my _ boyfriend, _ Dick,” Tim tells him, rolling his eyes. He sets the cutlery down as well. “This is _ our _ house.”

“How do you know I walk around half-naked?” Jason questions as he spoons out the pasta onto the plates.

Dick grins wickedly. “Tim talks. He tells me he _ loves _ it when you show off your bodacious chest—”

Tim is bright red. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up—”

“Your boobies—” Dick honks out with a laugh before Tim clamps a hand down on his mouth. Dick wrestles him away.

“I tell him it’s TMI but he keeps doing it.” Dick frowns and shakes his head dramatically. “Super gross, Tim. I thought you were better than that. Stop objectifying him.”

Jason’s cheeks are hot, and he knows he looks almost as red as Tim does, though he’s tried his hardest to stay out of it.

They eventually settle down and eat their dinner, talking about everything and nothing at the same time, which is how Jason informs them that he’s starting a course online in information management that he’ll complete while he’s working at a nearby bookstore. Dick immediately wants to celebrate that, so he grabs one of their wine bottles and pours some for all of them, and soon that bottle is finished and another is opened, but because he’s a lightweight he passes out sometime before twelve on their bed.

After Jason and Tim have washed the dishes, grumbling about Dick as they do, they snuggle up together on the couch, letting the TV play softly in the background as they tangle their legs together, Jason’s body, again, somehow cradled in Tim’s, and listen to each other breathe.

The low sound of the TV is making him drowsy, and Tim keeps yawning beneath him, but neither of them have fallen asleep just yet.

There is something he wants to say, and he doesn’t really want to share it like this, but he’s afraid that he’ll be too scared to say it later. So he takes a breath and lets the words out on the exhale.

“Thank you,” he whispers up at the ceiling.

“For what?” Tim murmurs into his ear. He tightens his grip around Jason’s middle.

“For this,” Jason whispers, “for you. For everything.”

“It was all you, Jay,” Tim says quietly. “I’m proud of you.”

Jason doesn’t know how long this will last, doesn’t know when the Pit will start calling him back, but right here, right now, it doesn’t matter.

What does is that he has a home, a loving family who want him and accept him as their own, and the knowledge that, for now, everything’s alright.

Tim’s arms go slack around him as he finally submits to sleep, and Jason follows him soon after, feeling warm and safe and loved.

***

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://jasontttodd.tumblr.com/) | [my twitter](https://twitter.com/seadreamss)
> 
> Also, yes, I did take that line from rhato #18, I would’ve used the entire speech, it’s just so beautiful, but figured that would’ve been a little like cheating.


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